


Irredeemable

by PlasticRamen



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Ambiguous Sole Survivor, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Chains, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticRamen/pseuds/PlasticRamen
Summary: A woman finds herself trapped in Glenvale with the Deathslinger.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

The gate was stuck. She flipped the switch down, up, down, but it was useless. He was getting closer and nothing was happening. She yanked the lever one final time, slamming it against the wall, and pulled until it snapped. She went stumbling backward, zigzagging in the sand. 

She spun and faced him, the broken lever clutched in her white-knuckled hand. Holding up her misfortune proudly for him to see.

He turned his head and spat.

She knew this didn’t affect him. He never left through the door. _She_ did. She was supposed to. But nothing was working. Not the gate, or the hatch, not even the damned generators. It was like the Entity had pulled the plug. Of all the cheap, dirty tricks...

“Well. At the very least, I made it easy for you, didn’t I?”

She tossed the rusty trophy at him. It landed just shy of his shoes.

He grinned. His smile was as crooked as the bent piece of metal in the sand. He must have thought she was an idiot. She had watched him kill her teammates and shut the hatch in her face. The gates should have been powered.

It unnerved her, and few things did those days. What else was screwed up? What else had gone wrong? What would happen now if she died?

She didn't want to find out until she knew more.

The Deathslinger had other ideas. But he was nice enough to give her a head start back to the ghost town. Even while running in the blistering heat, when she could feel his lunar eyes fixated on her, he would not fire.

They both knew it was only a matter of time.

On her way to the second gate, up to her knees in tangled Indian grass, she stumbled across Zarina's body. The woman had curled up where she'd fallen. She could almost be asleep, with her arm draped across her face like that. The pools of blood, the circling flies dispelled the illusion.

Zarina liked to tell stories. Something about a prison. A sealed ward. A cell.

A name.

Slow, purposeful footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She bolted to the other gate and tried the switch. That one was the same: dead. Locked. She was sure, now. Certain that she was trapped with a madman. All she had left was to somehow bargain for her life.

What was that old saying, about deals made in desperation?

She looked out from the balcony of the saloon, greeted by a complete vista of the grim little town. When he walked into view, she shouted,

“If it’s broken for me, it could be broken for you! Then what will you do?”

He stopped. Looked up at the balcony, then at the gate. He seemed to understand. If that speargun was any indication, he had some mechanical knowledge, at least for his time. Like him, the gates were a steampunk oddity. Perhaps they could be repaired.

Under different circumstances, she might have been fascinated by her surroundings, perhaps even by him. But all she saw standing there was a demon amid ruins.

“Words won’t buy you more time, girl,” he said threateningly, aiming at the balcony.

But her voice rang from the shadows of the ground floor. The annoyance was plain on his face.

“We could be trapped here. Think about it, Caleb.”

He scowled. “How do you know my name?”

Severe suspicion in his voice. She hid inside a locker, peering through the cracked door. Piano music masked his footsteps as he crossed the area in front of the bar.

“I know more than your name," she whispered. "I know you were a prisoner. And I don’t think you want to be stuck here alone.”

She slipped out, leaving him for a little longer to ruminate. Instead, he smashed his way through the building, leaving a trail of destruction. When he at last found her, she was resting on the stairs outside. Fighting to stay awake, to catch her breath. The desert had sapped the life out of her.

But he could always prove how much life she had yet to lose. He probably knew a thousand ways to kill someone, and she didn’t even _want_ to know what his body count was. 

She threw her hands in the air.

He raised the gun. Didn’t he know how to speak without having it in front of his face?

“Thing about a man who’s done time: he doesn’t fear loneliness,” Caleb said. “Not anymore.”

“Then why’d you let me go?” she asked. "If you have no doubts?"

No response from him, that time.

She nodded. "Because you're smarter than that, that's why. But maybe I'm wrong.”

He hesitated. He had hesitated back at the gate, too, she realized. She'd been too scared shitless to notice.

He came to the foot of the stairs. Perhaps he meant to use the blade instead of shooting her point blank. She became distinctly aware that she was shaking. She hadn’t been afraid of dying for a long time. A sinking, lonesome feeling she'd just as soon forget.

“God, if that ain't a pathetic sight.” He lowered his rifle in disgust, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Knew it,” she whispered, relieved.

“Don’t flatter yourself, lass. It takes all the sport out of it, you givin’ up like that.”

“And here I thought you just didn’t like to kill ladies.”

"You're no lady. Neither were the others," he scoffed, taking a pair of iron cuffs from his belt. Though her luck had shifted, the idea of being his captive didn’t sit well.

She backed away. “Why bother? Not like I’ve anywhere to run.”

He put one huge hand on her shoulder, slamming her down on the steps.

“One more word outta you, just one, and I’ll slice yer throat,” he warned. “I swear it.”

He seized her by the arm, yanking her close, and she smothered a yelp. He dwarfed her; she’d be a fool to resist. He clapped the irons on her wrists, ignoring her hisses of pain when they scraped her skin. They were heavy, and forced her to keep her hands down and arms at her sides.

He spun her around once, for no good reason she could think of. Maybe to inspect her clothes, check her for weapons. She doubted many women were wearing jeans and t-shirts in the 1800s.

 _God. Is this really happening_? she thought, looking around at the abandoned frontier town. A fading memory. _Why here? Why him?_

“Well, don’t we look demure?” he smirked corrosively, all sarcasm. “Subdued, even. We’ll make a lady out of you, yet.”

“Know what?” She forced a faux smile. “Fuck you.”

Not her smartest move, but well-deserved. Caleb narrowed his glowing eyes, before he promptly shoved a rag in her mouth. Not making good on his threat, but she was on the right path to destruction. One of her many talents.

He dragged her to the upstairs brothel in the Dead Dawg Saloon. An appropriate name for her new prison. He bound her to one of the beds with a new chain, this one tied around her ankle. Its cold bite made her shiver and break into goosebumps. Not to mention she couldn't move without sounding like horror movie ambiance.

She was starting to notice a theme, and she didn’t like it.

But he left her alone soon after, slamming the door shut. Lord only knew what he was up to. Probably collecting more chains, maybe a couple of torture devices.

She rested her back against the side of the bed (no way she was climbing into that thing) and shut her eyes. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. A drum kept a lively beat in her head. She nodded off out of pure exhaustion, dreaming of a cracked riverbed as wide as a canyon.

Under a violet ribbon of sky torn apart by black clouds, way out in the center of the riverbed, a dilapidated stone prison sat on its own island, with no lights in its barred windows. Its walls slumped inward, as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out.

She thought she could see a set of double doors. A feeling of inescapable curiosity and dread, which Zarina had once described, pulled her toward it. But before she could get closer, she collapsed. The sky broke, and rain came splashing down.

She was awakened rudely by a ladle full of water thrown in her face. A swift hand yanked her gag out, and she sucked in a breath of stale air.

The Deathslinger dropped the broken lever just beyond her reach. He had been to the gate, then. She looked at the ladle hopefully. He turned away from her.

“You were right,” he said quietly, spinning the ladle in his fingers. “We’re stuck here, in rotten Glenvale. Never thought I’d see the day. My old mates would be laughing at me.”

Mates? Had he meant all those dead men, or maybe that was Bayshore's people? She couldn’t be sure. It struck her that she knew next to nothing about this murderer. Now she was forced to beg from him and was seemingly at his mercy. But it was better than dead.

She hoped.

“Please, can I get some water?” she rasped. “My head doesn’t feel right.”

He moved for the door, saying over his shoulder, “You’ll get water when you show me you can behave.”

Likely she would die of thirst, then. She swallowed.

“Caleb, wait. Can you fix it? Do you think you could get the gate working?”

He growled and slammed the door again. Loose pieces of ceiling rained down. She heard him thump downstairs and, presumably, grab himself a drink at the bar. Why not? What else was there to do, other than slowly poison oneself with spirits?

She had many things she wanted to do, and none of the freedom to try. All she could do was rest and contemplate this strange new twist of fate. Through a slat in the wall, she watched the sun finally set on Glenvale. One by one, the stars came out, piercing through all that blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Daylight streamed through cracks in the walls. Muffled piano keys tinkled disjointedly. For a moment, she had no idea where she was.

A vulture screeched. Not quite the wake up call she was hoping for. No going back, no matter how much she wanted to return to peaceful oblivion. Instead she peeled herself up from the floor.

No sign of Caleb. That wasn't necessarily a good thing, but there was nothing she could do. The room was her new home until he deemed otherwise. A worthy exchange for her own life.

But she needed an insurance policy, in case he changed his mind. He didn't exactly strike her as a stable individual, and no contract had been signed.

She rolled onto her back with a jangle of chains, thinking. In the corners of the ceiling, aged cobwebs swayed gently.

 _‘Mad Mick’,_ the dead woman had called him. She racked her brains, trying to remember. Zarina hadn’t just found Caleb’s cell. There had been something else. Something small.

She turned on her side and faced the wall. Faded maroon paper peeled away in sheets.

DEATH TO BAYSHORE. That was what had been carved into the prison wall. Behind it, Zarina found something. A tool. A wrench. She had taken it out of her jacket once or twice, when she thought no one at the campfire was looking. A reminder of her old life, maybe.

Or her mistakes, the last one putting herself in the Deathslinger's crosshairs.

She struggled to fall back asleep after that.

High noon arrived. The room above the bar sweltered, hot enough to drive anyone mad. It was a chore to move, let alone think. Not to mention she was dehydrated badly. She'd have killed for some water.

Still no word from Caleb. But just when she was starting to think he'd disappeared, he returned with a vengeance.

The heat must have cooked his brains, because the door burst open without warning. It struck the wall, thrown off its hinges. He towered in the doorway, regarding her coldly. His demeanor had changed. He was drenched in sweat and silent. Solemn. Radiating desert.

She shrank between the dresser and bed. Before she could react, he took the rifle’s blade and pressed it against her throat.

“You have to die,” he muttered. "It's the only way."

“Please. Don’t. Look around you!"

He pressed harder.

“What do you think I’ve been doing? The place is deserted."

He wasn’t thinking clearly. He had to understand _._ She couldn’t afford otherwise.

“You're making a big mistake.”

She tried to meet his eyes, but it was difficult with her chin thrust back.

“The Entity isn’t here to whisk you away, Caleb. Killing me won't change that."

He nodded once.

“Aye, maybe. But this place is a bloody tomb. I’ll make it quick."

“Coward," she growled.

He set the gun aside, balled her shirt in his fist, pulled her off the floor, and tossed her on the bed. She tried to force him off, but he wrapped his hands around her throat and pinned her down. Her legs flailed uselessly under his weight. 

“I may be a lot of things, but I _ain’t a coward_.”

He squeezed tighter, and the stars came out.

“I...have something...you want!” she choked.

His grip lessened. Her lungs burned, but now she could breathe.

“Something...stolen from you. If you kill me, you’ll never find it.”

Her wager paid off. He must have known. Slowly, he let go. Hollow eyes searched her bones, scanning her soul. She wished she could sink into the mattress and hide. But there was no hiding from a man like him.

“Show me.”

He pulled her off the bed by her arm.

“Water,” she demanded, rubbing her throat. “Now.”

He snorted.

“I can’t walk,” she said. That wasn’t a lie. Her legs were buckling.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

But he conceded and left, returning with a bucket and ladle. He held cold water to her cracked lips. She drank greedily. Much of it spilled down her flushed cheeks, but she didn’t care. The water was life-giving, almost euphoric.

He even refilled it, letting her have a little more. It seemed to amuse him to watch.

She didn’t care. She could have drained the bucket, but he decided she’d had enough. He threw it aside and marched her down the stairs, out into the open.

The sun was a brutal overlord. Not even the vultures dared emerge from their dens. She located Zarina’s body easily enough. It was in a worse state than when she’d last seen it.

“Her?” Caleb asked, dubious.

“In her jacket.”

He rolled the corpse over with his boot. She averted her eyes. When she turned around, he held the wrench tightly, caressing it with his thumb. She thanked her lucky stars Zarina had lifted it, though she was sorry to see her gone.

Maybe she’d been the fortunate one. She might have suffered, but at least she wasn’t trapped, playing carnival games with a madman for her life.

“Satisfied?” she asked. She'd had enough bomb diffusing for one day.

Caleb stirred. He tucked the wrench into his coat pocket.

The phantasm of him carving those words, letter by letter, surrounded by unforgiving stone walls, would not leave her alone. She wondered what that did to someone, mentally.

“How long were you in jail?” she asked. Trying not to sound suspicious.

“They called me ‘Mad Mick’,” he said, reminiscing to himself. Swept away by some memory that had boiled up from his violent past.

His hand slipped into his pocket, a habit that seemed to comfort him.

“My father _hated_ that word.”

And that was all he cared to say. 

Back inside, he removed the iron handcuffs. The chain remained fastened to her ankle, but it was long enough that she could roam freely around the saloon. Small victories.

He left her alone. She didn’t have the energy to explore just yet. She picked a table that wasn’t flipped or busted and set her head down. The piano played, on and on, songs long forgotten and without name.

At dusk, he returned with a bowl of stew. She lifted her head at the smell of a fresh meal. Her mouth watered.

“I knew I smelled something cooking,” she said, brightening. “Thought I was hallucinating.”

“Here,” he grunted.

He set the bowl in front of her, along with a tin cup of water, and stepped back.

At first, she thought she was looking at sliced eel and potatoes, before she realized what it was. She pulled a face and reached for the water instead.

“What’s wrong? They don't have rattlesnakes where you’re from?” he sneered.

She stiffened, pushing the bowl away.

"I don’t like to talk about where I’m from.”

He made an indifferent sound.

"They still have to eat in the future, don't they? Don’t expect the menu to improve.”

He moved to swipe the bowl away.

She reconsidered, drawing its steaming contents toward her. Gingerly, she took a bite. The broth was in dire need of salt, but it was warm. Replenishing.

“Actually,” she admitted, “it’s quite good. I've eaten worse."

Wordlessly, he went off to be on his own. But she thought he might have smiled. Maybe that was the hallucination.

After sunset, firelight flickered in the dark, catching her attention. She went as far as her restraints allowed, stopping on the porch. Caleb was oiling his gun by a small campfire. Ever since he got his wrench back, he seemed calmer. She wondered which would resurge first: the dust storm, or his temper.

“Here,” she said, holding the bowl out. She had eaten every last bite. Beggars, choosers, and all that.

He came over and took it from her. She folded her arms, leaning against a post. Pretending like she wasn’t tied to the doghouse.

In the gloom, his eyes shined at her acutely.

“If there’s one thing I hate,” he said. “It’s a liar. But you seem honest enough. Don’t make me regret sparing your life.”

“I won’t,” she vowed. She started to go back inside. Sleep was looking more and more like the preferable option.

He tipped his hat at her, and returned to his fire.

“We’ll see.”


	3. Chapter 3

At dawn she heard him smother the campfire. She crept onto the balcony, careful not to let him see, but he was already gone. Left behind, again.

Annoyed, she traipsed down to the first floor, where a surprise was waiting. He must have done it overnight. The corpses were gone, no longer positioned like morbid mannequins. As for their disposal, she didn’t want to think about it. If her captor was happy to undertake all the dirty work, so be it.

Aired out and rid of all nastiness, the saloon was just shy of charming, despite its rough edges. It was simple, open, and with no lack of sunlight. She’d grown unaccustomed to such warmth on her skin.

 _I must be losing my mind, staring at the sun._ Sighing, she yanked on the chain, and began pacing about.

Morning snaked by. While in the throes of boredom, she discovered a small pile of books, stashed in a compartment behind the bar. An employee's secret stockpile. Dusting each one off, she perused the volumes before settling on a large copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. 

Maybe old Edmond Dantès would have some escape tips. Never did she dream she’d turn to literature for cheat codes, lost in some interdimensional overworld. She smiled, sat on the foot of the stairs, and cracked it open.

Her shocked gasp was drowned by the piano.

Resting in a bed of carved-out pages was a single action army revolver. _‘In Case of Dissatisfied Patrons’_ scrawled in blue ink on the inner cover. It took her a second to fiddle with the chamber, but she managed to slide it open. It was fully loaded.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

She tucked the gun into the band of her jeans and pulled her t-shirt down. Too obvious. Too uncomfortable. Reluctantly, she placed it inside the book and took it upstairs. She stashed them under her mattress and stood there, contemplating.

She was no outlaw. Hell, she could barely throw a pallet at the right time. What did she expect to do? Shoot the hatch open and jump out of there?

Absently, she shook her foot, and the chain jangled. Maybe she ought to try and shoot her restraints off, make a run for it...defend herself, if she had to...

She lifted the mattress, uncertain. Glassware clinked from downstairs, followed by a light thud. Caleb. She retracted her hand and left the bedroom in a hurry.

“What were you doing?” he asked, when she appeared on the landing, slightly flustered. He had poured himself a whiskey. A lit cigarette sat smoking on the counter top.

She clasped her hands behind her back. “I could ask you the same.”

He chuckled mirthlessly, sipping his drink, face concealed by his hat, save for his crooked smile.

“‘Nothin’, eh?”

He was giving her sideways glances. Sweat gathered along her spine.

“Expected as much. The only thing you rabbits are good for is runnin’ scared." He chuckled again. "‘Rabbit’, heh. That’s a pretty good name for you, don’t you think?”

She clenched her jaw.

“I've got a name, but whatever makes you happy,” she said coolly. “And I’d offer to help, but you know…”

She kicked the chain and shrugged.

“I doubt that, little Rabbit,” he smirked. And went on sipping his drink.

Her little secret had restored some of her pluck. She sat at the other end of the bar, facing him.

“Well? You find anything out there, or what?”

“Lemme think...” he drawled. “The usual. Sand. Vultures. Fuck all.”

He poured a refill. She swallowed dryly. Some booze wouldn’t be half bad.

“And the gates?” Her hands shook. She put them in her lap to steady them.

He gulped and slammed the drink down, and she flinched.

“Haven’t got the right tools.”

Not what she wanted to hear. She lowered her head, taking a deep, steadying breath.

Caleb grew increasingly agitated. He twirled the glass with long, pale fingers. She studied his hand furtively. Tendons stood out from years of toiling away on inventions.

“There must be something,” she offered. “We could make some tools. Maybe salvage the generators.”

He tipped the bourbon back like it was water, and took a long drag off his cigarette. God damn did she need a drink. Like a hole in the head.

“ _We_?" he mocked. "That’s rich. And there’s no salvaging anythin’ from this grave. Believe me, Rabbit, I’d have done it by now.”

The stupid pet name seemed to have stuck with him. She turned bright pink.

His hollow laugh rang throughout the saloon. A third shot was poured; consumed. He turned to face her, white orbs glimmering. Blotchy color on his high cheekbones. A cloud of smoke around his head. It was unnatural, him sitting there, acting like a regular man. It filled her with a false sense of security.

She was tempted to keep sitting with him, drink her troubles away. Listen to all his violent, disturbing tales, maybe regale him with some of her own. While he was drawn inward, lost in his glass, cigarette balanced between his lips, she looked him over.

 _He could have been handsome, once_. _In a rugged way_. The unwelcome thought fluttered and landed on her shoulder. She shivered and it passed. If it came around again, she made a vow to drink it away, drowning the brain cells that'd dreamed it up.

“So,” he mused. “We’re just goin’ to have to learn to live with one another.”

She pulled a face like something behind the bar had soured.

“Don’t say that. You’re giving up, already?”

He offered her the liquor by way of an answer. She pushed the bottle (and his hand) away, disgusted.

“If you’re just going to sit there and get shitfaced, I’ll take my leave.”

She stood abruptly, stomping up the stairs, her chain rattling. _Screw this_ , she thought. _Screw him. Crazy old bastard_. _I was an idiot to think he-_

He set down his glass forcefully, startling her.

“Get back here. I want your company.”

She froze. “I’m tired.”

He pounded his fist on the bar and shot to his feet, standing at full height. She shrank back on the stairs.

“ _Tired_? From what? Lazyin’ about all day, like some doddering housewife?”

She had half a mind to grab one of those bottles and dash it across his smug, ugly face.

He took one final drag of his cigarette and put it out on the counter, leaving a black mark on the virgin oak.

“Get your arse over here. I ain’t done talkin’. Or do I have to reel you in?”

He tapped his rifle, propped against the bar. Always within his reach.

She approached him cautiously, trying to calculate how fast she could run upstairs and reach under the mattress. She kept her hands at her sides.

He turned away from the bar and leaned next to his rifle, reading her. One hand draped across his belt, resting idly.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Without warning, he stepped up to her and grabbed her by the chin, like a disobedient child, forcing her head back. Exposing her soft throat.

“You better not be hidin’ somethin’ from me,” he growled. “Not now. Not after I’ve grown to-”

“Stop it!” She shook her head. Her skin broke out into goosebumps. “I’m not hiding _anything_ from you. What could I possibly have? I’ve been stuck here all day.”

“Oh yeah?”

He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her. Her backside struck the bar, and she winced.

“ _Good_ ,” he growled, leering down. The scents of leather, tobacco, and whiskey washed over her.

“Very good. You know, lass, I kept you because you’re nice to look at, I’ll admit.”

He was a scoundrel. Worse than a scoundrel. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but shut it when his eyes narrowed to slits. A wry grin slid across his scarred, inebriated face.

“Didn’t have anything quite so nice within reach, when I was at Bayshore. So it’d be a damn shame, if you did somethin’ out of turn.”

“Where do you get off?” she snapped.

“Heh.” His fingers dug into her skin. Their hips were nearly touching, his considerably higher than hers. She swallowed, crying,

“You can’t keep me chained up forever, like some animal.”

Slowly, he pushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes.

“I wore a chain, once,” he said, quieter. “You get used to it.”

She broke free, but only because he loosened his grip.

“Stay the hell away from me,” she snarled.

He shrugged.

“Thanks for the chat, Rabbit. Do it again soon?”

She ran for the stairs, face burning, and didn’t look back.

“You’re right, you know.” His words jabbed her like little knives. “I don’t want to spend eternity alone. By all means, get your beauty sleep. You look a sight.”

“Monster,” she hissed, once she was up on the landing. “Don't touch me again.”

“Aye,” he nodded, a hand on his hip. He poured himself another drink and toasted behind her back. 

“And this monster is all you’ve got.”


	4. Chapter 4

The following day started out promising enough. He showed up early with a hot bowl of something that resembled breakfast. It smelled edible, at least. She didn’t care if it was horse feed; she was half-starved. 

Caleb held it out to her. A peace offering for his boorish behavior. She seized it greedily with both hands.

He kept an iron grip, refusing to let go. His expression turned sly when she gave him a furious look.

“What? No ‘thank you’?” he mocked. He brushed his overcoat back, putting a hand on his hip. “I keep you alive, feed you, and you can’t mind your manners?”

She let her hand drop. Her stomach growled in protest.

“You’re one to talk about manners,” she snipped. “Are you going to let me eat in peace, or do I have to beg?”

He laughed, as if he’d love nothing more.

“Best drop the queenly act, and start actin' more grateful. This isn’t Buckingham Palace, and you're no princess.” 

He tugged on her hair, hard. She hissed and drew back. 

“I want nothing of yours,” she said, disgusted. She folded her arms. “You’re repulsive.”

“For someone who thinks that...”

He crept up to her. She _hated_ how he could close the distance between them with one arrogant stride.

“...you sure do come running quick, when I’m around. Makes me curious, just how fast I can make you go.”

He slid the speargun from his shoulder, but stopped short. Smiling at her.

Her jaw dropped a little, but no words spilled out. 

With a haughty smirk, he set the bowl on a table and left. She waited until he was long gone and wolfed everything down without tasting it. She hurled the bowl at the wretched piano, shattering it, then returned to her bedroom. She paced back and forth, eyeing her mattress keenly.

She could almost bet on him coming back and getting drunk. Last night would not be a one-time thing. He seemed to control himself during the day, but when the sun went down, he wanted to play all sorts of games with her. A lifetime of sin and debauchery didn’t just vanish in death, even if the Entity _had_ screwed with his brains.

The kind of vibes he gave off, in another night or two, she’d end up on the wrong end of his spear.

She shuddered, her head swaying from side to side. She couldn’t take another night chained there. This pacifist, good-behavior bullshit wasn't working out for her. If she was going to do it, she had better do it fast. The longer she waited, the more she risked putting herself at his dwindling 'mercy'.

Sprinting to the balcony, she dug her nails into the banister, squinting into heatwaves and swirling sands. Searching. He was likely well out of town. Minutes later, she heard gun blasts, confirming her suspicions. The shriek of a dying animal carried on the wind. He was probably shooting rabbits.

Until he decided he wanted a bigger target.

That was all she needed to hear. She lifted the mattress and took out the gun. She bent down and rested the chain on the floor, aiming as close to her ankle as she dared. She cocked the hammer back. Inhaled sharply.

The first shot missed by half an inch. Her ears rang, but she could hear the vultures on the rooftop screech and take flight.

Swearing, she aimed again. Fired. Another miss. How fucking hard was it to hit something so close?

Panicking, she tried one final time, steadying her hand. _I swear to God, if I shoot my foot off..._

The gun went off. The chain thrashed, once, like a dying snake.

Free, free at last.

She ran for it. Giddy; delirious. And that was before the sun could even hit her.

* * *

It was shaping up to be a real bitch of a day.

The scorching heat pounced on her in seconds, smothering her. She fled to the area with the most coverage, where the rock stacks towered like shapeless statues, and overgrown cacti tore at her clothes. But at least she would be harder to spot.

Crouched by an abandoned tent, she waited. It was a windless, clear, sunny day. It didn’t take him long to track her down by her footprints. The man was dedicated to his psychopathy, she'd give him that.

“Stop right there!” she cried, when he was within her sights. She held up the revolver and took her best threatening stance, which was about as intimidating as a startled flamingo.

He did stop, glaring at the revolver, which winked in the sunlight. He unshouldered his weapon, watching her closely. His movements were so practiced, so languid, he almost seemed bored of this business of hunting and killing her. She got the distinct feeling he'd expected this betrayal. But he was a monster.

So why did she suddenly feel guilty?

Only too late, did she notice the rabbits dangling from his belt. He hadn't been executing them. He'd been hunting their dinner.

She shook her head. So what? He was a creep. A freak. He deserved to die. She clicked the hammer back, working up her nerve.

And ducked, as the harpoon launched overhead, missing her by inches. 

“I don’t wanna fight!” she yelled. “I just want you to leave me alone!”

But she had brought out the cold, killing machine in him. No hesitation or second thoughts there. He loaded and fired on her again. The rock wall behind her shattered.

With a yelp, she turned and ran. Maybe she could lose him in the brush, try and reason with him. But he was gaining on her, slowly but surely. Her cover thinned. The wall loomed ahead, and the sun beat down mercilessly, making every stride a suffocating struggle.

Her foot landed in a deep, circular depression. Gnarled, intertwining roots that choked the sunken earth seized her ankle, and she tripped, landing in an oversized nest of some kind.

A vague alarm bell went off in her head, but Caleb had found her again. She froze.

“I told you not to make me regret it," he said gravely. "But you had to play your games. Now look what you’ve gone and done...”

She struggled to her feet. Roots pulled back, trying to suck her down. Her pulse radiated in her ears. No, that was wrong. What was that weird noise?

“I trusted you,” he growled, aiming.

He was taking an awful long time to do the deed. She remembered her own gun and raised it on him.

“I'll do it," she warned.

"Go on," he goaded. "I'm waiting, lass. Shoot me. I wanna see you try."

Her limp arm struggled to hold the revolver, an unbearable weight. With a defeated sob, she lowered it. She'd never used one, until today. Shooting a man was different than blasting a hunk of metal. Even if that man intended to murder her.

But if his intent was to kill, his aim didn’t show it. The harpoon glanced off the wall behind her, and went spinning, around and around…

With a savage pull from Caleb, the chain tightened in a python grip, pinning her arms against her sides. Another tug, and she shrieked as she flipped over, landing forcefully onto the ground. He reeled her in, dragging her through the sand. The revolver slipped from her sweaty fingers in the struggle.

Sand sprayed her in the face. She dug her heels into the earth, but it was like fighting a black hole.

“Quit your strugglin'," he rasped. "I'm not going to kill you."

The hand crank clicked, over and over, until she heard it stop.

He knelt down and seized her by the hair, growling in her ear, “But when I’m done, you’ll wish I had.”

She screamed then. He threw her down and started dragging her behind him, heading for the shade of the brush. He only got a few paces before he stepped into another hole, similar to the one that had snagged her. While he struggled to free his injured leg, she watched in wide-eyed terror and recognition as a gray hand slithered over a nearby boulder. A hand with elongated fingers, tipped with sharpened, bloody claws. A bony arm followed the hand, then one hulking, muscular shoulder.

A faceless, humanoid creature hoisted itself on top of the boulder, crouching like a puma. Without warning, it sprang.

Its shadow swept over both of them, blotting out the sun.

* * *

The sun disappeared. She screamed, and Caleb turned.

"What the bleeding Christ is tha-"

In a gray, fleshy blur, the creature landed on top of him, screeching. He bellowed, and the two of them when falling to the ground, the beast tearing at his throat. Caleb defended himself from its snapping jaws with his gun, using it as a bite stick.

"GET OFF!" she heard him roar. "Bloody bastard!"

She wriggled out of the chain, got up, and started running in no particular direction. When she heard him scream, she stopped in her tracks, turning around.

The invader had Caleb pinned by the shoulders. With a wet hiss, it started lowering its split-petal maw to his terrified face.

Maybe she ought to let it kill him. But then she'd have to deal with it on her own.

Caleb shut his eyes, turning his head to the side. The thing almost had its mouth on him. His rifle was about to snap from the strain, and his strength was failing.

She had felt, firsthand, what those mutated jaws could do, once they wrapped around your skull. As much as Caleb was a human-filth specimen, she wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

She aimed the newly-recovered revolver and squeezed the trigger.

The first bullet struck it in the flank. It continued its relentless attack. One massive claw rested on the rifle and shoved it against Caleb's windpipe, depriving him of air.

She got as close as she dared. The next shot struck it in the neck. It released Caleb with an injured sound and turned on her, petals splayed, roaring so ferociously her ears stung and her ribs trembled.

Her hands, however, did not. The final shot thudded into its chest. She must have sufficiently frightened or annoyed it enough, because it loped past Caleb and dove into its hole.

A familiar dissonant crackling filled the air. She gasped.

"The hole!" she shouted. "Don't let it close!"

An injured Caleb rolled onto his side, not understanding, but he crawled toward it. She ran past him and fell to her knees, raking at the roots, tearing them to pieces. She pushed her body down, but it was no use. 

The portal was closed.

"Fuck!" she swore, kicking at the nest. "No! That was my way out. Right in front of my face and I-"

"What," Caleb said, interrupting her, "was that? Some kind of monster?"

Panting, she gave him a confused look.

"What do you mean? It's the Demogorgon. You know, a killer. Like you."

He shook his head.

"You're making no sense. What are you talking about?"

But she was too out of breath to explain, doubled over from her exertions. They needed to get somewhere less exposed, first.

"We need to talk," she told him. "Or do you still want to kill me, and spend eternity with that thing instead?"

He glared up at her, still stuck in the roots. Then, an insane grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. He threw his head back, laughing heartily. She was beginning to understand why they called him mad.

"All right, lass," he sighed, tilting his head. "You win. Though, you had a bit of help from our ugly friend."

She did not share his newfound sense of humor.

She said, "Never thought I'd be glad to see it, until you came along."

He took her hand begrudgingly. She helped him to his feet, leading him back to the saloon. Every so often, she glanced behind them at the defunct portal. Thinking. Scheming. She smiled to herself.

Not that bad of a day, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

It would be a scorching hike back to Glenvale, but it was better than getting flambéed alive in the badlands.

She didn't make it far when Caleb lunged from behind, grabbing her by the shoulder. Disregarding her shriek (and personal space), he shoved his hand under her shirt.

"Thought I'd forget, didn't you?"

He came up with the revolver. She groaned.

“I'll forgive you for hiding it, this time."

She fixed her clothes, thankful for the sunburn that hid the color on her cheeks.

“Keep it, then," she grumbled. “Not like it’s any more use to me.”

He checked the cylinder, finding it empty, and clipped it to his belt.

“You could’ve shot me in cold blood while my back was turned," he stated. "Why didn’t you?”

She should ask herself the same thing.

“I’m not a psycho, for one,” she defended. “And I wasn’t sure I wanted you dead."

He rubbed his mustache idly.

"Well? Do you? You've got plenty of good reasons to."

Since when did he care about her opinion? Oh, right. Since a homicidal freak broke into their world and tried to make a Swedish meatball out of his head. 

"Not at the moment," she said. "I’ve got bigger problems now. And I didn’t kill you back there, when your back wasn't turned. In case you already forgot.”

“Oh, I shan't," he mused, smiling faintly. “You’ve got grit, after all. Enough to earn your freedom. But don’t test me."

She kicked and sent an old chunk of animal bone flying.

“Fine. It's a truce. Excuse me if I don't celebrate."

She went on ahead of him, ignoring the way he was chuckling to himself. The crazy old gunslinger had known she didn't have the heart to hurt him. He just liked to rub it in.

The Demogorgon had punished him enough, she supposed. His limp had worsened, and he kept his arm tucked into his coat. He would not let her see his wounds or, heaven forbid, help him walk. It suited her just fine. Touching him was the last thing she wanted to do.

At length, he said, “Do you think that beast-”

“-the Demogorgon,” she corrected.

“Call it whatever fool name you like. Will it come back?”

“It’s possible. If it does, we can use the port, er, the hole to escape."

She left it at that. It may not be wise to fill him in on the details. He might decide he could handle the space cryptid on his own and dispose of her. Or use her as bait.

The more they walked, side by side, the less she believed that was true. His bafflement was genuine. Part of her would never fully trust him, but the battle for her freedom was over.

Now, he seemed almost protective. He dogged her footsteps, keeping one eye on their surroundings, hollering when she went too far out of his sight. Once they were back in town, on her insistence he built up the campfire, stacking heavy beams of wood until the flames shot well above her head.

He might move slower than hell, but he never tired, she thought. When he put his mind to something there was no stopping him. That was what made him so dangerous in the first place.

“Remind me,” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow, “why I’m doin’ this again?”

“It’s probably afraid of fire,” she speculated. "Same as all animals."

Truthfully, she didn’t know a damn thing, other than that it liked to rip people’s heads off. Including hers.

“ _Probably_? I thought you knew this beast?” he grunted.

She rubbed the skin peeling on her neck, grumbling, "More than you do."

"Hmph."

The conversation dropped off. He retreated to his makeshift workbench, where he started the meticulous process of disassembling and cleaning his gun. She found it funny--as soon as he was out of his element, he returned to his tools and contraptions. The closest things he had to friends.

When he had finished, the sun was sinking behind the red cliffs. They sat on opposite sides of the bonfire, saying nothing. The shadows unfurled, weaving into a blanket of night. Smoke and sparks twisted into the muted sky. No stars. No moon.

Only them.

“Caleb," she said softly. "I think it’s time we talked."

He sat with one knee drawn to his chest. The other leg, the one in a brace, was stretched in front of the fire. He tilted his head, peering at her through the flames.

“I’m listening.”

“Back in the desert, you said you didn’t know about the Demogorgon.”

He snorted at the ridiculous name, but nodded.

She continued, “What do you remember, about all this?” She gestured to his world. “How you got here?”

For a long time, he remained silent. Then:

“Not much to recall,” he began. His free hand slipped into his pocket. “I was in my old cell. My hands covered in another man's blood. It reached out, and took me away."

“From the prison? That’s where you died, right?” she asked, remembering her dream.

“Aye,” he answered. “At least, I think I died. It spoke to me. It said it admired my bloodlust; my ingenuity. So it cut me a deal.”

He pulled his hand out of his coat and opened it. An iridescent glass coin sat in his palm. Curious, she rose and went over, sitting by his side on her knees.

“May I?” she asked.

He shrugged.

Carefully, she lifted the coin. It was emblazoned with etchings that resembled the spider god. She turned it over in her fingers, shivering. It was cold to the touch.

“All that fog,” he murmured. “I thought it was the grim reaper closing in. I wasn’t ready to die. But it was somethin’ else. Somethin’ beyond death.”

She swallowed. “And after that?”

“After that,” he repeated. He furrowed his brow and rubbed his forehead. “I was hunting. Doing the same job I’ve always done. I was damn good at it, too. No more petty inconveniences to get in my way.”

She realized he meant life. Society and laws. Money and possessions. Love and hate, though he had plenty of the latter.

He clenched his hand into a fist, muttering, “I gave it what it wanted. I offered it blood. So why’d it leave me here? Why put me back in a cell?”

Anger flashed on his face. For once it wasn’t directed at her.

“Looks like your new boss betrayed you,” she whispered. “It abandoned me, too.”

“What about you, eh?” he asked. He took the coin back, dancing it along his knuckles. He brought it to his lips. “What’s your tragic story?”

“I told you, I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Fine. Tell me about the others, these 'killers’."

She sat back on her hands. Wishing a single star would appear. But there was nothing to gaze at, except him. 

Firelight took some of the years off his face, lending his cold eyes an unusual warmth. She shivered again and tried not to stare.

“When I first woke up in the fog…”

The hours ticked by. She told him about her gruesome encounters: her deaths, her narrow escapes, all the absurd little moments in between. He expressed great interest in her enemies, less about the other survivors.

Finally, she needed a break, and left to get some air. She sauntered back with two glasses of whiskey.

“Cheers,” she chimed, handing him one.

He raised an eyebrow. "To what?” 

“To being such losers that not even the Entity wants anything to do with us,” she laughed. “The devil’s rejects, if you will.”

He looked about ready to toss his drink into the fire. Instead, they clinked crystals. She tilted her head back and swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp.

“Should've brought the bottle,” Caleb lamented.

She set her glass down. “This is my first and last. I don’t really drink.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Nobody's perfect, lass."

He lay down, folding his arms behind his head, and covered his face with his hat. Not long after, his light snores drifted over. She took first watch, yawning and pinching herself to stay awake.

The following night, while waiting on their gangly new friend to visit, they talked sporadically over a game of cards. Caleb (after a few drinks to loosen his tongue) shared stories about his life as a bounty hunter: horrific tales, tinged with bloodshed and violence. A few of them had her laughing out of sheer shock and titillation.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

“You couldn’t get away with such things, now,” she giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. “Er, in 2020, I mean. You’d be thrown in jail. God, it's like you were living with cheat codes on."

A lost reference on him, as so many things about her were, but he never stopped to make her explain.

“ _Believe_ it,” he drawled. “They tried to catch me, for a long time. And your world sounds duller than dirt. All those regulations and rules. Makes me glad I didn’t live forever.”

“You say that, but you’ve never tried a hot shower,” she sighed longingly. “Or a giant plate of sushi."

He made a face and sipped his drink. If he was at all curious about the future, he didn’t ask. A small part of her envied his unbridled, _Westworld_ existence. The closest thing she’d experienced to that kind of freedom was video games, and she didn’t even have those anymore. Though the Entity's realm had certainly given her wiggle room, as far as travel went.

Whenever he grew tired of talking about himself, he would ask about her and the other killers. She saw no reason not to tell him.

“And then, after Ace blew up the gen and ratted me out, that’s when he hoisted me by the neck and ran his butcher knife clean through me,” she finished, pointing to her stomach. “Right here. I was so embarrassed I almost didn't care."

"Ace stabbed you?"

"No, no, Michael Myers. The silent one."

“He sounds like a cunt,” Caleb remarked, waving his hand dismissively. He turned serious again, asking, "How many times have you died?”

"I lost count.”

She licked her fingers and drew a card from the deck. While debating her next play, she noticed him staring at her. His gaze moved surreptitiously from her navel, to her face, back to his cards.

She wasn't so far removed from society that she'd forgotten what a man checking her out looked like. And he was doing just that.

“No cheating,” she chided. “I saw that.”

“You didn’t see shit."

“Yeah, well, I’m onto you. Bet money you're plotting against me.”

He stirred from his hunched position.

“That so, Rabbit? Want to make a little deal with the devil?"

The coin flashed fire from between his pale fingers.

She didn’t answer. He watched her shuffle through her hand, saying,

"You’ve dealt with your fair share of bullshit, haven’t you? Don’t suppose I helped.”

She made a bitter sound of agreement, sorting through suites and numbers. Hearts and clubs. Not paying him any mind.

Until he admitted, “I’ve been a savage to you. But you’re braver than some of the men I used to run with.”  
  
She became restless, fidgeting with a lock of her hair. Was that his version of an apology?

“Thanks...I think.”

“The Entity was right when it chose me,” he continued. “I won’t lie. I’m a bastard, and this hellhole’s what I deserve. But you don’t strike me as someone who needs punishing.”

She set her cards down.

“That’s why I’m me, and you’re you," she said. "But you know, Caleb..."

She plucked the coin from his open hand. He made no move to stop her. She took a pebble with a sharp point and scraped diligently at the glass face, until it was unrecognizable.

“Every coin’s got two sides." She dropped it into his palm, unmarked side up.

"Maybe it’s time you start questioning your loyalties.”

He hesitated, handing the trinket back to her.

“Keep it. I've got no use for it,” he said. “Your move.”

She tucked the Entity’s promise into her back pocket.

“I already made mine," she told him assuredly.

"Now draw."


	6. Chapter 6

Days slipped by. Caleb kept his distance, no longer joining her by the fire or seeking her companionship. She wondered if it was his own impatience eating at him, stoking the fury he eternally fought to master, or if something else drove him away. She hadn't forgotten the way he'd looked at her.

Whatever it was, she left him alone to his own devices.

The day arrived when she couldn’t stand the reek of smoke any longer. She slipped away from the protection of the fire while Caleb had his back turned. If the Demogorgon picked today to show up, so be it. She was done waiting.

The arid wind tugged at her hair and clothes. She wandered through the shadows of Glenvale like a spirit that had lost its grave. The criminal lack of scenery stoked her imagination, planting wild ideas in her head. She pondered, for example, whether she could scrounge more bullets for the revolver. Whether or not those bullets would fire. She wasn't asking for much; she only needed one. Nooses dangled from the gallows, swaying in the breeze. She cringed every time she thought about that stiff rope slicing into her skin. Dark mirages such as those appeared and disappeared equally fast, always before she could get too close.

She came back to find Caleb hunched over his workbench. A shape darted overhead. She looked on in mild astonishment as a crow lighted on his shoulder.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” she said.

He stroked the bird’s jet-black feathers, never turning away from his work. It hopped across his coat to his other shoulder, eyeing her inquisitively.

“Had a mind to blast him into a pile of feathers. But then he started bringing me gifts.”

He held up a screw, placing it on a small pile of junk: nuts and bolts, wires and scraps. Nothing to her, but they must have meant something to him.

“Gifts!” the crow echoed. “Gifts!”

She drew back in surprise.

“It speaks?”

“Oh aye, it speaks. And it's cleverer than any rabbit, too. We’ve been having all sorts of conversations.”

She frowned, feeling inadequate.

“Have fun with your new pet. If you need me, I’ll be around.”

He went on stroking the bird, saying, “Why don’t you get your lazy bum on the roof and keep a lookout? It’s your shift.”

“Already on it.”

But she had not moved another inch, locked into a staring contest with the crow.

Caleb muttered with suspicion, “What were you doing out there? I told you not to wander far.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Looking for a tame armadillo. Figured we could start a zoo.”

He set down his wrench, wiping oil off his hands with a rag.

“Next time, don’t be an idiot, and tell me.”

The crow took flight, landing on the stair railing. As she approached, it cackled, “Idiot! Idiot!”

She swatted at it. It flapped out of reach, returning to Caleb’s side. She took the stairs two at a time, anxious to be away from them.

"And Rabbit..."

She froze, clutching the banister.

"The rope by the gallows is much too rotted. I wouldn't try anything foolish, if I were you."

* * *

The more she watched him from afar, the more he drove her crazy. While she was stuck cactus-gazing, languishing like a house cat, he found boundless ways to keep busy and entertained. He knew the town and understood how things worked, what they lacked, and gave the broken things his attention, fixing them one by one.

Every so often the crow would bring him a nail, but mostly it served to keep him company. He never went anywhere without the marauding little corvid perched on his arm.

Never in her life did she think she’d be jealous of a stupid bird. But it was far from stupid. If she didn't know any better, it seemed to understand her. There were times where she caught it staring at her with beyond-avian intelligence.

She followed Caleb around as he worked, peering over his shoulder, haunting his footsteps. The water tower pump was soon up and running, along with an outdoor shower. Afterwards he started putting the wheels back on the wagons, never once asking for her help.

“Why are you doing all this?” she asked, gesturing at the surrounding desolation. “Why bother?”

"When I was in Hellshire, they whipped us bloody if we wouldn't work," he said, loosening a bolt on the wagon the size of her fist.

"I never got to choose. If I'm going to be doing my time here, I may as well make use of it."

With that, he shoved his shoulder into the massive wheel, forcing it into place.

“Besides," he remarked. "I can’t have my hands gettin' soft. Isn’t that right, birdie?”

With the wings of death perched on his shoulder, he grabbed his speargun and headed to the target practice area. There were no dummies or targets in town. What they did have was a surplus of rotting bodies.

Waste not, want not.

He went out there every day to shoot and sate his bloodlust. It was the only time she did not follow.

One evening, nursing a glass of centuries-old wine, she heard him chopping firewood. She walked towards the hollow, rhythmic thunks and cracks, sitting in the dirt. She crossed her legs, pretending to enjoy her drink.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” he asked. He swung the axe in a clean arc and split a log neatly in two.

“Nope.”

He shook his head, as if he’d expected as much. He’d removed his overcoat and thrown it across his worktable. The crow glided away when it saw her, drifting across town into the desert.

 _Finally, Death hath learned to fear thee,_ she thought smugly, sipping the antiquated wine. It did not taste refined or distinguished. It tasted like rotten grapes. She upended the glass into the fire, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

Caleb paused to roll up one of his sleeves. He hadn’t bothered to pull his hair back, and it was a small miracle how he saw anything with it constantly falling in his eyes. She watched him set the axe down and lean against it, considering her.

“There must be somethin’ you’re good at,” he said. “Other than moping about, not minding your own business.”

“There were things I liked to do,” she reminisced. “Things that aren’t available to me anymore. I’m just...stuck in place.”

She threw the wine glass. It shattered against the embers.

“What did you used to do?” He snorted, adding, “Surely you weren't married."

She threw her head back and laughed.

“I didn’t have much of anything going on, until the Entity came. Maybe that’s why it kidnapped me.”

"More like it needed live bait."

She jumped up and stole the axe while he was distracted. She stepped out of his annoyed reach and, giving him a pointed glare, set up a log on the chopping block. She swung the axe overhead, putting all her rage into it. The blade struck home, and the log wobbled before it cracked in half.

"I'm not half as useless as you think," she huffed. "Let me get the rest of this. Watching you is exhausting."

"Just don't go maiming anybody."

She brandished it at him, a sly, half-smile on her face.

"Oh, think you can kill me, is that it?" he taunted.

He edged closer, heedless of the sharpened steel whirring through the air. He caught the neck of the wooden handle and prized it from her fingers with little effort.

She said haughtily, "I know I could. I've had _plenty_ of experience on the other end."

“Tell me,” he dared, tossing it aside. "Let's hear your clever plan."

“Let me see,” she pondered, resting her finger on her chin.

“I could bury a hatchet in your spine. Chop you in half with a sword. Tackle you and stab you in the back.”

“Heh. Would love to see you try.”

He put his hands around her backside, hoisted her up and set her down on the worktable. When she gave him a shy, searching look, he said,

“Keep going. I think you’re starting to scare me.”

“Some big, tough cowboy you turned out to be,” she laughed. “Hmm. I could sever your head with one nice, brisk stroke of a chainsaw. I could…”

She rattled off one absurd death after the next, confessing all the ways she’d been killed at the hands of others. Caleb grew more and more incensed, although not in the way she was used to seeing.

“You know somethin’,” he interrupted, cupping the soft curve of her cheek. His thumb caressed her bottom lip.

“I’m kinda glad I didn’t kill you.”

His confession shouldn’t have pleased her so. Neither should his touch. He was coarse and unattractive and everything she’d been warned not to want: a man who drank, a man who smoked, a man who dealt with matters in bloodshed. She should scrape him off her heel and walk away.

But she was in a mood to destroy things, including the abysmal rules killers and survivors were forced to live by.

"I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you," she warned.

She seized his shirt and pulled him on top of her. He went along eagerly, slotting himself between her thighs. She reached up to caress the rough stubble of his jaw, winding her fingers through his hair.

He stopped short, although not from lack of desire. His gaze roved over her body, committing it to memory. She tried to draw him against her, wrapping her legs around his waist, lifting her pelvis inches off the table to reach his. He caved a little and pressed his hips into hers. She knew for sure then: he'd thought about fucking her, and more than once.

A few meager, thin inches of clothing and he could finally be inside her, chasing deliverance in her warmth. He buried his face into her neck, and she felt a shudder wrack his entire frame.

Still he did not kiss her.

He was older and he had more sense. He denied himself, but just barely.

It took her a few seconds to catch up.

“Get off,” she moaned, writhing. She shoved his chest, hard. He backed away, furious.

She realized the taboo of what she'd done and shrank against the table, bracing herself against its ledge.

“Look at me,” he snarled. “Look!"

She could not. Moments ago, she was about to tear at his belt and beg him to fuck her. But the sight of him frightened her. Why shouldn't he? He was a killer of men. He was twice her age. They were quite literally from different worlds. Under no sane and rational law should they have ever met, let alone touched.

“You damn fool,” she heard him mutter.

She lifted her eyes, meeting that luminous stare. He had never looked more lost. Conflicted. Cursed.

He pointed to himself.

"The Entity never left. It's been here, this whole time. In me. You don't get to change that."

She hung her head.

"When our paths cross again outside this place, you know what I'll do to you?"

"Yes," she said sullenly.

"Good," he finished. "Don't forget it."

The crow had returned, a welcome distraction. It careened wildly above their heads, landing on the table, flapping its wings in a panic. It hissed and pecked at anything within reach, including Caleb when he reached for it.

“The hell’s gotten into you?” he snapped, drawing his hand back. It was bleeding.

A grating, unnatural screech reverberated across the town. Vultures and crows alike took flight in startled unison.

"It's time," she gasped. "The portal. Hurry!"

She broke into a run, heading for the desert.

Solemn and grim-faced, Caleb grabbed his gun and followed.


	7. Chapter 7

In the middle of the desert, the ground pulsed with cosmic energy. Caleb prodded the twitching roots with the tip of his gun.

“You sure about this?” he asked dubiously.

“Not really,” she admitted.

Chewing her lower lip, she tried not to stare into the glowing pit at their feet.

The wind kicked up. Caleb pulled his red scarf over his mouth and nose. He scanned the wasteland with a hunter’s discerning eyes, rifle held at the ready. 

She doubted someone as ruthless and skilled as the Deathslinger could best the monster. It had almost killed him the first time.

“Picked a hell of time to change your mind.” His words were muffled by the faded bandana and the impending dust storm.

She glanced down, into the yawning mouth of the unknown, and her stomach flipped.

“I’m used to destroying these things,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve never tried to _use_ one. I don’t even know how they work.”

He leaned over and spat into the aperture. His version of the scientific method, she supposed.

“Doesn’t matter. Ain’t no other way,” he grunted.

Pounding, rapid footsteps echoed off the walls. At least the Demogorgon gave plenty of warning.

“Noisy fucker,” Caleb mumbled. “Well? Ladies first.”

He raised his hand, like he had a mind to push her. She gulped, sidestepping him. There were things she needed to say to him, questions she still had about how all this had happened, but their time in Glenvale was at an end. Besides, it wasn’t in the nature of the Entity or its realm to provide direct answers.

Keep moving; try not to die, was the survivor motto.

“Here goes nothing.”

Sinking to her knees, she dove headfirst into the void, clawing at the roots for handholds. The electric heartbeat intensified, hair-raising and spine-chilling. The air reeked of ancient dirt. It was as though she were crawling into a living, breathing grave, one which was becoming increasingly claustrophobic.

But it wasn’t long before her head poked up on the other side. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. If she wasn’t so used to waking in bizarre places, she might have turned back. Whatever fresh hell or purgatory this was, it made the other realms look like Disney World.

She backed against a blackened tree, waiting anxiously for Caleb. He hoisted himself out of the hole and took one unimpressed look around, muttering something about curses. Lost and fearful (at least on her part), they wandered across the lightless, twisted landscape. Every second they were in there, she knew they were on borrowed time.

The Upside Down was no place for humans, Entity-possessed or otherwise.

Gradually, a golden ripple wavered in the distance. The sole source of light, as far as the eye could see.

With no other options, they headed straight for it.

* * *

She stepped through that jagged, shining window and stumbled, blinking, into some kind of testing facility. Her sigh of relief was cut short when she spotted the first dead scientist, slumped over a malfunctioning control hub. Judging by the way his stiff fingers gripped the controls, his last act seemed to have been trying to shut something down.

Or keep something out.

Caleb crossed over and did an immediate double-take. He seemed much more impressed by their new surroundings.

“What is this place?”

She knelt by a second body, this one in a hazmat uniform, and read the ID tag.

“Hawkins Lab,” she breathed. “I’ve heard of this place.”

“Tell me.”

She gave him the abridged version of what Nancy and Steve had told her. It was hard to recall all the details in her current state. When she was finished, Caleb approached the corpse by the control panel, studying it with his head tilted to one side.

“Probably some great, bloated business tycoon’s bright idea,” he remarked with disgust. “These poor bastards thought they were God’s gift to the world. But they were just pawns in a rich man’s game. Doesn’t matter what year, what place. S’always the same.”

“Let’s get out of this room,” she suggested, shivering.

He nodded, taking one final glimpse at the portal.

“I doubt the next room will be any better,” he said.

 _Let’s hope so,_ she thought. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she felt the Entity’s influence in that place.

Never had she been so glad to be right.

The lab was contaminated by more than the breach: the Entity had returned. Hooks swayed on deformed posts hollowed out by rats. The overhead lights and some of the doors worked. The power appeared to be on.

She found an exit gate, but she couldn’t bring herself to flip the switch. Not yet.

Caleb loomed over her shoulder.

“Well?” he asked impatiently. “Get on with it. I don’t want to stay here forever.”

His face was unreadable, still covered by his scarf. Just like him, to want things to go back to ‘normal’, if such a word was possible. Did their time in Glenvale mean nothing? Was he not curious about why the disruption had happened? Was he not the least bit doubtful of the Entity?

And did she mean anything to him at all?

“Just like that, huh?” she hissed. “You want to go back to how things were before?”

He shoved past her, ignoring her cry of surprise, and pulled the switch. The gate buzzed and slid open, initiating the collapse. The entire laboratory shuddered and the ground beneath their feet started to quake.

All that time, free from the endless cycle of reincarnation, pain, and death. Wasted. Out of the frying pan, but now he was tossing her back into the flames.

“Why?” she shouted. “Why did you do that?”

Pitching forward, she pounded his chest with her fist. He ignored her.

“God, I missed that sound,” he sighed, looking at the gate. “Consider yourself lucky, Rabbit. Looks like you get a free pass.”

“So, we go our separate ways. Then what?” she demanded. “You go back to killing us and being the Entity’s lapdog?”

His eyes narrowed. She knew she must act fast. Shoving her hand in her pocket, she brought out the scratched coin and held it, twinkling, under the flickering lights.

The floor began to crack in a hundred places, but she wasn’t moving an inch until she made him an offer.

“I’m not letting you off that easily, Caleb Quinn.”

She thrust the coin at him. He lifted his chin haughtily, asking,

“What’s this?”

“Your payment.”

He seemed almost offended. Or surprised.

“I told you, I have no use for that. The Entity gave it to me for my first kill. The rest, I do at its pleasure.”

But she had spent enough time with him to know when he was bluffing.

“Since when has having a boss ever worked out for you?” she argued.

He fell silent.

It was getting hotter. The entire lab was converting itself into an oven.

“Bayshore. The Warden,” she rattled off the names of those who had wronged him. “You told me yourself. Those men betrayed you. What do you think the Entity will do?”

His scarf slipped down, revealing a deep frown and a brow creased with concern. He was either seriously considering her words, or she’d angered him beyond reason. Her heart thundered in her ears, all but silencing the noises of the collapse.

If she didn’t start running towards that fog soon...

“You best leave,” he warned.

Her mouth opened to object, but he interrupted, saying,

“I’d sooner not watch it tear you to pieces.”

She ran forward, throwing her arms around him. He went rigid against her, unused to such things. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed the space between his jaw and his neck. The coin dropped into his pocket. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.

“There," she said, pulling away. "It's done. I've hired you."

He pushed her toward the swirling fog beyond the gate.

“Have you lost your bloody mind? Hiring me for what?”

“To be my bounty hunter,” she declared. “I...I want you to kill for me.”

His shoulders heaved as he laughed at such a ridiculous offer. Though she thought his eyes reflected coldest pleasure.

Or madness.

“Who would you have me hunt? These other killers of yours?”

A fiery tongue split the floor, dividing them. _Good_ , she thought, _now he can't give it back_.

She started walking away, slowly fading from view. 

“Think about it, Caleb,” the apparition of her called out.

“I expect your answer, when we meet again.”

And she was gone.

A gnarled spider leg shot out of the ground, searching for her. There was something unsettling about the way it mindlessly scraped the air.

“Too late,” he muttered, smiling. He held the coin up, turning it over in the light. 

“That’s what you get for being greedy.”

An inferno swelled around him, flames devouring the walls, the floor. Everything. Hell had many forms. Endless rooms. Cells. It all looked and felt the same, to him.

At least now he had something to occupy his thoughts. The old gunslinger and ex-convict slipped the coin back into his pocket. The spiraling fog swept in to whisk him away, moving swiftly, eager to make up for lost time.

While he waited, he absently rubbed the rough spot where her soft lips had touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest thanks to all who gave kudos and commented! I hope you enjoyed. <3


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